The Plum Blossom from the West
by lepetitfromage
Summary: Yao has spent millennia on this earth and he thought there was no one like him. His world turns on its head when a Muscovite convoy comes to the Beijing palace for talks of peace. Their translator - a tall, unreadable man with lavender eyes- has something in common with Yao and Yao learns that he's not alone. Everything Yao knows about himself is going to change. - Historical AU
1. Chapter 1

The Muscovites came in the fourth week after the lunar new year, when the bare, winter branches were about to give way to spring blossoms.

Wang Yao was reading in his private chambers when he was summoned. The fading light of early evening set outside his window.

"_Wáng __lǎoshī_," the servant said as he kowtowed. "_Shèngjià_ requests your presence in the throne room."

Yao closed his book and set it on the low table he knelt in front of. With his back straight and his hands folded in his lap, he calmly addressed the servant. "Thank you. I will be out in a moment."

The servant bowed once more and stepped away from the doorway to wait for him.

Yao took the ribbon he had placed on the table and tied his hair back. With grace befitting his position and importance, he stood and met the servant at the door. The servant led Yao away from the officials' private chambers and around the courtyard to the emperor's throne room.

The servant bowed once more to Yao at the door, his eyes on the ground as Yao walked past him and into the throne room. His level chin held up, his shoulders straight and set back, his hands clasped together under the sleeves of his robe.

At the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne, Yao knelt and kowtowed in front of the emperor.

"_Bìxià_," he greeted the emperor. "You summoned me."

"_Yao q__īng,_" the emperor replied. "Stand at my side. The Muscovite convoy has arrived in the palace."

Yao, as the emperor's teacher, advisor, and primary official among many titles, ascended the steps and stood next to the seated emperor.

"Let them enter," he then told the guards.

Having lived as long as he had, Yao was practiced in many things, composure being among the foremost. When the foreigners entered, they couldn't have been more different than they. Yao could speculate that no less than three-quarters of the emperor's subjects currently in this room had seen a foreigner.

These Muscovites were tall, thick, and lumbering. They had long protruding noses and pale eyes, hair as grey as sun-bleached stones on some and light like summer wheat stalks on others. Their clothing was from an unknown culture – short coats over trousers and tall boots, almost everything lined in furs.

The convoy that entered the throne room consisted of ten men. The man leading the procession, whom Yao supposed was the Muscovite grand-duke's diplomat, was flanked by two men. The remaining seven walked behind them, and by custom they would be generals or other officials.

One of the men flanking the representative stood at the man's side, his face impassive and his posture rigid. He bowed his head and spoke their Mandarin.

"On behalf of the grand-duke Dmitri Donskoi of Muscovy, I present to Your Majesty, Andrey Mikhailovich Vasilyev, foreign representative of the grand-duke."

Yao only thought it slightly odd that the convoy hadn't been assigned a Chinese translator. To have a Muscovite official display such command over Mandarin was unusual, but efficient. Yao was not proficient in their language; he never had much interaction with them to feel motivated to learn it.

"Welcome to China," the emperor said. "I hope your stay will be most comfortable. I invite your men to join us in a more private room to discuss business."

The man translated to his party and an agreement was made. Yao was expected to follow the emperor and walked behind him as modestly as possible. It wasn't only custom he was adhering to; Yao's case was a peculiar one and he could have walked with the command of an emperor. But no, Yao never felt inclined to act like so. Perhaps it was because of his time spent on this earth that instilled in him his sense of place and purpose. Yao preferred to be unacknowledged unless necessary and unseen unless he desired it. Yao was allowed these privileges too, as one word to his emperors about certain facts would keep them from experiencing what he was capable of.

While they walked to another private room, Yao felt eyes on his back. His nerves sprung on alert in an instant. What Yao felt was a sensation he hadn't felt in centuries. This was different from the simple sensation of being watched. He felt the gaze pierce him completely, as if looking into his soul. Yao steeled his back and never faltered, but the disconcerting feeling persisted until they entered the meeting room.

When Yao stood back near the wall to observe, his eyes swept the foreign men. One by one – until his gaze was caught like a fish on a hook by the tallest man, the man who'd translated in the throne room.

He stood dutifully with his hands behind his back, at ease. However, he glared at Yao. His eyes were sharp and lethal, his brow lowered and furrowed in concentration of some sort. His lips were set in a straight line, his jaw clenched. He appeared as if he would sprint across the room at any moment and kill Yao.

And that was the suspiciously curious thing – he only glared at Yao like this, he was only watching him. Pulled out of brief shock, Yao set his gaze and matched the man's glare, refusing to fall to this man's intimidation.

Yao was called up by the emperor and together they spoke with the diplomats. Yao had forgotten that the odd man was their translator. He approached the table, glare less intense but by no means disinterested in Yao.

The diplomat spoke his language, and the translator said, "The Tatar strikes have calmed, and with the establishment of the grand-duchy my grand-duke would like to extend a hand of peace."

Yao's eyes never left the man as he spoke. His voice was surprisingly milder than his rough countenance, he almost sounded faintly pleased. The contrasts were boggling his mind.

"_Yao __q__īng,_" the emperor said. Yao tore his eyes from the man, whose eyebrow quirked infinitesimally. Everyone in the room was watching him with expectant patience.

Yao cleared his throat and pointedly kept his gaze from the strange man's. "How long have the Tatar forces been suppressed?"

The man answered suddenly, with no prompting from his diplomat. "Six years."

Yao faced him again. "There is no sign of resurgence?"

"Not as of late."

"Six years is a fraction compared to the centuries of Tatar activity."

And then the man smiled. It was only a quirk of his lips at one corner but it was a triumphant smile, like he'd just confirmed a pressing thought. "But they have not stopped, have they? You know the history well." At this, Yao strained to keep a cool façade. Inside, his mind was warring. "I can tell. Six years may not be long, but it is the longest so far."

Yao grit his teeth. "If you act on such unreliable statistics you set yourself up for failure."

He actually giggled. "I set myself up for nothing," he said. "The consequences will affect my leaders." He seemed to remember that he was still in the presence of the emperor as well, and added, "As a dutiful guide, I can only relay information."

Yao didn't know why he was angry, it was irrational. What did he care for this stranger? He'd lived longer than anybody on this earth, survived plagues and disease and war, and his place on this earth seemed permanent without threat. What did he care if this foreigner's stupid actions got his country in trouble?

The Muscovite diplomat was muttering to the translator, finally fed up with being left out of the loop. Did they know how nonchalant their liaison was about the issue? How would they feel if they knew?

When Yao's eyes met the translator's once more, his concerns were no longer at the forefront of his mind. Those eyes that glowed in the warmth of the candlelight sparked the same unexpected pressure in his chest as he'd experienced earlier.

It was at the center of his chest, just behind his ribs; an inflating pressure that wanted to push through his front toward the other man.

When the other met his gaze and smiled knowingly, Yao clenched his fists, telling himself it was not worth it to get in a fight with an important group of ambassadors.

"_Yao __q__īng, _are you all right?" the emperor asked low from his side.

Yao slowly unclenched his fists. "I am fine."

"If you are not able to continue this discussion–"

"No," Yao said quickly. The last thing he needed was to give that man more fodder to torment him with. "I am fine."

"Very well, try to control your temper. We are here to work through this."

"Of course, _bìxià_."

The translator simply smiled at them, being the only one who could understand them. Yao wanted to knock that smile right off his face.

They transitioned to other topics but as much as he tried for his emperor, Yao only found his frustration with the translator growing and growing. It was in the looks he'd shoot Yao from time to time, the way he had a knack of smiling when the tumbling pressure in his chest stirred. More than once Yao had to ask someone to repeat themselves, and the man would smirk.

Tea was brought to conclude business for that night, though they still had much more to discuss.

The man cornered Yao when the other members of his party began to retire to their quarters.

He was closer than Yao wanted him, but before he could say so, the man spoke. "You are a faithful advisor, I can tell. But I wonder if you have seen enough of this world to accurately predict its outcomes."

Anger flared. "Excuse me?" Yao replied in disbelief.

"If I took a guess, I would say you have not travelled outside your country."

Yao's jaw dropped open, but he couldn't find the words. Regrettably, it was true. Yao had only ever remained in China. But he had centuries, perhaps even millennia, on this man. How dare he accuse Yao of inadequacy?

"My position is not for you to criticize," he hissed. The man remained unaffected. "And I will not be spoken to like this. If you want your visit here to go smoothly, I suggest you act accordingly."

The man tilted his head to the side, seeming to gaze deeper into Yao's eyes as if they held an answer he were looking for. Finally, he licked his lips and said, "My apologies. Excuse me."

He left, and Yao's heart was racing.

.

Yao returned to his private chambers on edge. His attendants scurried after him when he stormed down the corridor but he dismissed them with a single slashing hand motion. Entering his chambers, he shut the sliding door harder than might have been necessary but once he was alone he released the breath he'd been holding.

His breath came out in harsh puffs and Yao ripped his hair out of its ribbon. He ignored the way his fingers shook. He told himself it was anger coursing through him, but it was useless. Apprehension was what had him pacing the floor, worrying his lip, and wringing his hands.

Yao clenched a fist and struggled to untie his robes. He dropped them in a crumpled heap, but he was still too hot. Off came his silk shirt, leaving him only in loose trousers. With his bare chest heaving, he slid open the window as an added measure.

Outside Yao's window were the gardens, and behind them the stone wall separating the main palace from the outskirts. The breeze was a gentle whisper over the leaves in the garden and the moonlight was a wash of pale light. The more he watched the steady breeze the more his nerves were calmed. His harsh breaths evened and Yao took one last deep breath.

It seemed ridiculous to get this worked up. This feeling was not unknown, just unexpected.

Yao walked into his sleeping quarters, crossing his legs as he sat on the luxurious silk bedcovers. He lay flat on his back, still too warm to sleep under the covers. He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep quickly, but nearly an hour had passed and Yao was no closer to dreamless sleep.

He flung an arm across his eyes, hoping the extra blackness would block out all distraction. Then, he heard a creaking sound. In the quiet of the night and his state of restlessness, he was especially attuned to the muffled sounds of feet stepping carefully out in the great room of his quarters. Yao lay still, listening. That unnerving sensation pricked at his skin again and his breathing turned shallow.

The trespasser was in his room now. Sock-clad feet neared his bedroll at his knees. For a minute, the figure stilled and Yao strained to hear anything – he couldn't even hear breathing.

The man took another step forward and Yao acted. He twisted his legs and weaved them between the other's, tripping him and the man fell to the ground with a dense thud. But this man was no common intruder. Once he hit the ground he was rolling – onto Yao.

Yao used his momentum to keep them rolling until he was on top of the other. He lodged a forearm into the man's throat and with his other hand he pinned the man's right arm away from his side.

Then he was staring into the eyes of the Muscovite translator. His eyes were the lightest of lavenders in the moonlight, pale like plum blossoms, and they looked strangely pleased. His hair was the palest gold.

Yao took deep breaths, looking down at this man who gave no effort to break free.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed none too politely.

The man tapped Yao's forearm with his free hand and Yao reluctantly lifted his arm away from the man's larynx.

"Yao," the man breathed.

Yao snarled and bitingly said, "You will address me as _Wáng lăoshí_, foreigner." The man simply smiled wider. "Answer me. What are you doing here?"

"Tell me, Yao." He ignored Yao's vice grip on his wrist. "How many emperors have you served? Have you always been the imperial pet?"

"I am no pet," Yao shot back, belatedly realizing he'd snapped at the man's bait, never denying his implied statement.

"You look young to be an emperor's advisor. Exactly how old are you, _Yaochka_?"

Yao didn't even register the unfamiliar manipulation of his name. His stomach began knotting itself because this man was confirming everything he knew deep down.

Yao swallowed and said carefully, "You are like me."

He blinked slowly, but smiled. "It has been so long since I met another." He placed his large palm against Yao's chest, right over his solar plexus. It was warm. "You feel it here, do you not?"

Yao couldn't believe it. He didn't think he'd meet another person like himself, not since he found the little boy he called his brother all those centuries ago.

The man moved his hand and his curled fingers gingerly brushed Yao's long curtain of black hair. "_Yaochka, moi kotyonok,_" he whispered in his language.

Yao pushed away from the man, no longer able to have those suspiciously gentle eyes drinking him in. He stood and stepped off the bed, turning his back on him.

The man shifted, and out of the corner of his eye Yao watched the man get to his feet. He finally turned back and looked him in the eye.

This close – just over an arm's length away – to the disarmingly tall man Yao had to tip his head back slightly to meet his gaze.

"What is your name?" Yao asked.

"Ivan Braginski."

His brow furrowed. "Everyone in your convoy has three names. Why don't you?"

"Their fathers give them patronymics. I have no father."

Yao swallowed once more. This man, Ivan, was unreadable. His expression never shifted, and his tone was surprisingly light and patient, as if he could stand to gently explain everything to Yao all night.

"Why have you come here? To China?" he clarified.

"As advisor to the grand-duke of the newly established Muscovy, I was requested to accompany the ambassador."

Yao gawked unblinkingly at him.

Ivan grinned. "You see, we are alike."

"This is impossible."

"You say that, yet I would venture to guess that you have lived on this earth a very long time, even longer than me, perhaps."

He wasn't wrong. Yao had just broken through his third millennium.

"Mr. Braginski," Yao began, having trouble with his name, "It seems I cannot ignore the situation any longer." Ivan smiled. "However, it is late. I ask that you leave and allow me some time."

"Of course, _Yaochka_," Ivan replied, giving a small bow. "I understand."

Ivan turned and casually exited his bedroom. At the door, he whispered one last, "Good night," before slipping out as quietly as he came in.

Once he was out of his chambers, Yao pressed his own palm to his chest where Ivan's had been. Yao felt dizzy. Now that Ivan was gone, the buzz that he'd felt whenever they were near each other was distinctly missing. He hadn't even noticed it when Ivan intruded into his room. He realized that the sensation was the same sensation he felt when they were in the same room at the diplomatic meeting. He'd only felt it once before, on a smaller scale, but this was overwhelming.

Yao lowered himself onto his bed, curling into a ball on his side. He kept an arm wrapped around the space between his ribs, still warm from Ivan's touch, as if it were the only way to keep in the remaining fragments of that feeling.

He exhaled a shuddered breath and closed his eyes. Yao fell into a sleep plagued by vague memories of the little boy he took in so many years ago, a little boy who had caused a similar reaction – of one unique soul coming into contact with another.

* * *

><p><strong>*sweats* This might be a bit ambitious for me, but I liked the idea. This deserves more research than I have time to give, so certain things may be intentionally vague but I have tried to keep what I do have as accurate or realistic as possible. And certain things (like Russian endearments) I've just decided to run with. Apologies for any discrepancies! <strong>

**Thanks for reading and supporting, loves!**


	2. Chapter 2

Yao locked himself in his chambers the next day. Selfishly, unabashedly, he allowed no one to enter, save the attendants who brought him his meals throughout the day.

He spent the day musing in a queasy mixture of anxiety and anger. Anxiety for what it meant to have come across another person like himself. Anger for the things that man, Ivan, made him feel: weakness, doubt, inadequacy.

From the shelves of his personal library, he'd pulled all the information he could find about the place Ivan came from. There wasn't much, and what there was seemed to conflict with how the Muscovites appeared. He tried to focus on important matters, like the duties expected of him as advisor to the emperor. But in a spark of irritation, he pushed those official papers away and swept over to the library shelves once again.

This time he sought out a document he hadn't looked at in ages. He took it reverently and returned to his seat at his desk. It was a journal entry dated over eight hundred years ago.

_I discovered a young boy in the forest yesterday. He could not have been older than four years. He was alone when I found him, and no one else seemed to be around or with him. However, he did not seem distressed. He watched me calmly. I asked if he could speak. He only nodded. I asked if he were in trouble. He shrugged. When I neared the boy, I felt an immense pressure in my chest, unlike I've ever felt before. As if some intangible force were pressing in around my soul. I became intrigued by the boy. I asked him if he were alone. He said he was. I elected to take the boy with me, and he put up no resistance. In fact, he took my hand and walked with me. As I held his hand, I felt waves of some unnamed sensation course through us. I took him to live with me, in my current residence. Now, he is sleeping after our evening meal. He has told me his name, Kiku. Nothing more._

Another journal entry, dated days later.

_The boy remembers nothing but his name, an odd one at that. As quiet as he is, he follows me like a duckling and has taken to calling me "big brother." He has become dear to me in a small amount of time._

Long forgotten emotion beginning to stir, Yao thumbed through entry after entry, stopping at one dated many, many years later.

_My suspicions about the boy were confirmed only a handful of years after I took Kiku in. When it was apparent that he did not age like normal children, I knew he was like me. I was afraid for what this meant, but I was also immensely relieved that I was not alone. _

_ It has been one hundred years together. Kiku aged slowly at first, but within recent decades he has been aging rapidly. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. But when he does, it is in a language I can barely understand. I have not asked him about it yet._

With a heavy heart, Yao reluctantly brought the last page to the front. It was the last entry he made in his journal.

_Kiku has decided to leave me. He says he does not want to live in the imperial palace as I intend to. He says he feels his heart is pulled to the east. I am not sure what he intends to find, but every day he grows more distant, his thoughts on this unknown horizon. _

Yao read the last part, written a day later.

_ Kiku has left. Where there was a deep connection to him in my soul the first time we met, that feeling has been ripped from me. There is a hole and a severed link that tries to mend itself. I do not know if I will see him again. There is no way to know._

Yao dabbed the corner of his eye with his sleeve, catching the tears before they could leak.

"_Wáng-__lǎoshī,_" his servant said at his door. "I have brought your evening meal."

Yao hastily swept up the journal entries from his desk and folded them. He slid them back in their place on the shelf and schooled his features as he allowed the servant to enter. He said nothing during the time it took the servant to deposit his tray and leave the room. Alone again, Yao didn't feel hungry.

However, a folded sheet of white paper caught his eye on the edge of the tray. Yao snatched it and read the note, his earlier temper flaring again with every word he read.

"_Yao, I heard you would not come out today. I wouldn't either, I do not blame you. I hope we can speak again soon. There are two people I would much like you to meet. Unfortunately, I am called away to assist Andrey for the time being, but I hope you will write me. Yours, Ivan"_

There were a few errors in the letter that hinted at an author who wasn't one hundred percent adept at writing the characters, but it was clearly legible, and it clearly took Yao off guard.

He didn't blame him? Was that a taunt? He hoped he would write?

Yao called in the attendant. The boy looked apprehensive in the face of Yao's sudden temper.

"Where is the man who sent this letter?" he asked of the boy.

The boy swallowed. "He and his officials have left already, sir. He gave me the letter on his way out."

Unable to do anything right away, Yao's frustration reduced to a simmer. He huffed and said, "Fine. Thank you. You may leave."

The boy bowed and quickly departed Yao's quarters. With nothing to do now but stew in his irritation Yao snatched the bowl of soup from the tray, finding that he had worked himself up a hunger.

After his meal, he crumpled Ivan's letter and tossed it into a corner.

.

A week had gone by without another note from Ivan. A week for Yao to clear his head, do his work, and figure out all these new developments without intrusion. His emperor had not mentioned the state Yao was in the week prior, and Yao didn't look back.

Now that he had a day for himself, Yao wanted to get out of the palace. He dressed for the day in simple robes to easily blend in with the common people and tied his hair back with a plain ribbon, unlike the silk ribbons embroidered with gold thread he wore in the palace. Many of the expensive and opulent things he owned were gifts from empresses and court ladies.

Instead of the royal palanquins he would usually use on official business, Yao elected to walk. The palace guards were made familiar with Yao's habits and let him be, but it was also in Yao's conditions for living in the palace.

Yao walked his usual route through the imperial city, first through the noble district, the middle class district, then to the merchant district. The markets were one of his favorite places to peruse in the city, and without his flashy identifiers, he could talk with and observe the citizens casually.

He spent a portion of the morning browsing the local artisans' wares. For as many expensive gifts he'd been given by the royal court, Yao always admired the delicate craft of the honest tradesman.

"Yao-_lǎoshī! _Yao-_lǎoshī!_" he heard three little voices exclaim. The sound of their voices brought a grin to his lips as he turned and saw two little boys and a girl grinning and bouncing on their toes behind him. The boys were six years old, the girl five and the younger sister of the boy who held her hand.

"Jin-_dì, _Bao-_dì,_ Yun-li-_mèi_," he greeted the children. "Are you helping your parents at the market today?"

"Yes," the brother chirped. "We haven't seen you in a long time, _lǎoshī_," he pouted.

"We thought you didn't want to see us," the little girl said quietly, half hidden behind her brother.

Yao laughed and crouched down to their level. "I've just been very busy, little ones. You always bring a smile to my face."

Yun-li smiled shyly and giggled. Yao felt his spirits lift as they always had when he talked with the children. He stood and ushered them two stalls down to the man with the toothy smile selling Dragon Beard candy. He bought three, one for each of them.

"Make sure you listen to your parents now. Don't run too far," he prefaced before giving each their candy. They nodded dutifully and accepted their treat with an eager "thank you."

Yao ruffled the boys' hair and gave the little girl one last smile before sending them off.

"_Xièxiè_, Yao-_lǎoshī,_" Yun-li said one last time. She bowed and scurried after her brother.

Yao watched them run off with a smile on his face. Then, he heard a voice behind him.

"That was very sweet, _Yaochka_."

Yao jumped and spun around to find Ivan Braginski standing behind him, to the side of a merchant's cart.

"Braginski-_xiānshēng._"

"Please," he said, "Call me Ivan."

Yao ignored him. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, his gaze darting around the market square. Sure enough, hundreds of curious eyes were on the stranger, on both of them. Who could miss the tall, pale-haired man? Yao noticed this time, though, that Ivan was wearing a Chinese-style leather coat over his normal clothes.

"Do you like it?" Ivan asked, smiling. "I bought it today. I thought it would help me blend in."

Yao didn't bother telling him that clothes alone wouldn't easily do the trick. He swallowed. "I'll ask again. What are you doing here?"

Ivan's smile never wavered, and Yao wondered if he were always this childlike. "We have returned from our business," he said. "I came to the market to look around – there are many things to see in this city – and then I saw you with those children. I did not expect _Yaochka_ to have such little friends."

"They've come to greet me at the market for three months now. They're good kids." Yao shook his head, getting back to the issue on hand. "Were you not needed in the palace?"

"No. I was given a day off. I would have taken one regardless, but Andrey beat me to it. Sometimes our commanders are generous, no?"

His words sent a small chill down his spine. Ivan spoke as if he and Yao were different than everyone else, and in a way he was right. Yao had momentarily forgotten the reason Ivan was speaking to him in the first place.

"What was that sweet you bought the children?"

"Dragon Beard candy," he replied absently. His brain was trying to catch up to the brisk way Ivan spoke.

Ivan hummed. "I would like to try some." He stepped over to the stand and greeted the candy-maker as if he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. The seller happily, curiously gave Ivan the candy.

Ivan returned to Yao's side and Yao watched him tackle the sticky sugar.

"This is wonderful!" Ivan said, licking his fingertips. He dusted his hands off and then said, "_Yaochka_, there are two people I would like you to meet today."

"You mentioned that."

Ivan beamed. "You got my letter? Good! I was hoping you would! I brought them to the market with me, they are eager to meet you."

Ivan began walking away and Yao found himself following him without hesitation. Yao wondered who it was Ivan had to show him – until it was glaringly obvious.

Two women stood together browsing a merchant's trinket stall. Both had the same pale hair as Ivan's. One was taller than the other, and they both wore Chinese silk robes over their thick, foreign travel clothes.

The taller girl looked over her shoulder at their arrival and spun around with a grin. "Vanya!" she exclaimed and their foreign language spilled from her mouth. The other girl remained silent, her expression impassive.

Ivan spoke a few words in his language, then introduced them to Yao. To him, he said, "_Yaochka_, these are my sisters, Yekaterina," he gestured to the taller girl, then the shorter, "and Nataliya."

The taller girl, Yekaterina, looked to Yao with wide eyes. She said something to Ivan, and there was awe in her voice. The solemn girl even regarded Yao curiously.

That was when he felt it, like a strike to his chest. It was the feeling of soul-wrapping pressure that Ivan had initially given him. He felt it doubly this time, as if both girls were radiating it.

"Ivan," Yao said, "Are they–?"

Ivan smiled. "They are like you and me, _Yaochka_. We have been together many, many years."

Yekaterina clasped her hands and gave Yao a gentle smile. "_Dùi bù qĭ_," she apologized. "Our Chinese is not the best. Vanya started to teach us." Her smile widened, then she said, "It has been so long since we've met another like us. We are very pleased to meet you, _Yaochka_."

Yao automatically bristled at the foreign nickname before Ivan laughed and corrected his sister, whose expression jumped to apologetic.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Yao!" she said quickly. "It is just that Vanya has told us much about you!"

Yao turned a puzzled gaze onto Ivan. He talked about him? He really hadn't had much interaction with Yao so far, and half of it was spent in tense interrogation and threats.

Nevertheless, Yao was nothing if not a gentleman.

He bowed and said, "It is a pleasure to meet you both as well. Your gowns are lovely."

Yekaterina giggled and held out the long sleeves. "Thank you. Vanya bought them for us."

Yao looked to Ivan but no modesty crossed his features. He remained bright-eyed and smiling.

Ivan withdrew a wrapped piece of silk from the breast of his jacket. "I couldn't help myself." Inside of the silk was a hairpin with red and gold baubles that he gave to Nataliya. The gift gleamed in her eyes and she mumbled a thank you, gingerly cradling the hairpin in her hands. To Yekaterina he gave a jade necklace. Her jaw dropped open.

"Vanya! You shouldn't have," she said. She thanked him anyway, her eyes shining.

"Are you staying in the palace?" Yao asked her.

"They are staying with me," Ivan interjected, a slight steely hardness coming into his gaze. "We should be heading back, too."

"I suggest you keep those gifts wrapped. I am afraid we aren't immune to theft in the city," Yao told them. The girls nodded and Ivan rewrapped the hairpin and necklace for the time being.

Yao walked beside Ivan while his sisters walked ahead of them. He thought it odd that they would walk in front, but he wasn't about to question Ivan's reasoning. He thought it had something to do with the subtle shifty-eyed wariness that had entered his eyes. While the girls walked and talked closely, sometimes throwing a foreign comment back to Ivan, Yao remained silent, listening to them talk or listening to little anecdotes Ivan had to share. He absorbed the language they spoke, trying to pick out the few words he knew. Sometimes Ivan would call one sister Natasha and the other Katyusha. There were so many names.

They reached the palace and Yao was able to get them quickly cleared by the guards. They headed down the corridor toward the private chambers, nearing the envoys' quarters.

Ivan ushered his sisters into the chamber the three of them shared. Once inside, the girls reopened their gifts and cooed over them now that they were in private. Each sister gave Ivan a peck on the cheek and Yao politely glanced away, though Ivan simply smiled for them.

Clasping his hands between his sleeves, Yao cleared his throat and Ivan stepped over to him.

"Ivan," he said, still not used to using the man's first name. "Once you are settled here, can I ask you to meet me in my chambers? There are some… things I still would like to discuss."

Yao thought it amusing how the man could radiate intimidation and severity one moment and then become as eager as a child the next.

"I will, _Yaochka_," he replied.

"It was such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yao," Yekaterina said. Nataliya remained stoic and unreadable. "We hope to see you again."

Yao nodded and bowed before leaving the room and walking smoothly to his own chambers.

There, he traded his simple robe for a brighter, modestly embroidered one and his plain hair ribbon for one with jade tassels. He went about the process of preparing the space; he started a fire in his personal stove and began boiling water for tea, cleaned up his desk, and set out two cups on his low table. While he poured the hot water over the leaves, a light knock sounded at his door.

"Come in," he said.

Ivan entered and walked to the tableside. Yao gestured for him to sit opposite him, arranging his own garments and smoothing them across his knees. Ivan sat on the cushion cross-legged. He almost seemed too big for the space.

Yao quietly poured the tea while he gathered his thoughts. Ivan waited patiently.

Yao felt a little nervous, and he didn't know why. Sure, he'd almost come to blows with Ivan the first time they'd interacted but now that the situation was wholly different Yao wondered if there were any protocol for this kind of thing.

Not to mention, Yao had nearly incapacitated Ivan in his room that night a week ago.

So he settled on the most recent thoughts. "You said they were your sisters," he began. "Yekaterina? Natasha? I cannot remember."

Ivan smiled and sipped at his tea. "Yekaterina and Nataliya. I apologize if you were confused. Katyusha and Natasha are nicknames."

"Like Vanya," Yao retorted with a small smirk. Ivan only smiled, his eyes crinkling in mirth. He wondered if Ivan was ever embarrassed.

"Yes," he replied with a chuckle. "Like Vanya. _Yaochka_ is my nickname for you, in case you were wondering."

Yao leveled him a flat look. "I suppose I gave up wondering, seeing as you're set on it." Yao sipped his tea and said, "Can I ask… rather, would you tell me about your sisters?"

Ivan paused, understanding Yao's underlying inquiry.

"We've been together a long time," he began. "Katyusha is my older sister. She used to take care of us when we were all small. She did her best given what she was able to do. Natasha allows herself to be dependent on me. She was always very pretty and taciturn, which many people tried to use to their advantage. We protected each other."

"How did you… What happened to your parents?" There really wasn't a delicate way to ask the question.

Ivan's lips quirked up at the corner. "That is the funny thing. My sisters and I are not related by blood." Yao's eyes widened. "We found each other when we were young. We stayed together since there was no one like us. Back then, people did not take kindly to our… eccentricities."

Yao nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"I cannot tell you what the family I was born into was like. Once they realized I was not normal they disposed of me, thinking me disabled or an abomination, I do not really know which. Years passed and as kids my sisters and I found each other. We lived a nomadic life for centuries."

"But then you fell in with your leaders," Yao pointed out, thinking of his own position in the imperial order.

"I think you would agree with me, _Yaochka_, that remaining with our leaders is both the best option for us and the riskiest." Ivan was leaning forward now, his tone becoming serious with the gravity of the subject. "With our leaders we have a place, stability. We have wisdom. We are useful to our leaders in that way. But it is also very precarious. We are not natural, therefore we meet opposition constantly. If the entire population were to know of our existence, who knows what may happen. But then, we cannot leave this earth permanently."

Yao grimly agreed. The amount of attempts on his life and "near-death" incidents was innumerable.

"Sure, if we remain nomadic, move from place to place as the generations come and go, those issues might be lessened. But there is only so much wandering one can do."

Ivan didn't have to say any more. Yao understood him perfectly.

Yao swallowed and asked him quietly, "I would like to know, how have you felt being passed from one leader to the next?"

"'Passed off,'" Ivan repeated. "That is a good way of putting it. In all honesty, I do not agree with all of my leaders. That is part of choosing to live safely with them; I can offer advice and little more. _Yaochka_, have you ever felt like you could take over, and your reign would last for eternity?"

Yao had, in fact, thought of this many times in his long life. It was a concept that would have been so simple. Yao smiled into his cup and told Ivan, "I have considered it a few times. At this point I am very capable, I should think. But as you said, we are not… natural. We can choose to believe that it is our destiny to assume that role because of our _unnaturalness_, but if my years on this earth have told me anything it's that the world changes and it is only _natural_ for the people to change with it."

Ivan grinned. "I agree. You have a very selfless mind, _Yaochka_."

Yao tipped his head to the side. "And you do not?"

"I asked you if you ever thought about ruling. I almost went through with it."

"Ivan–"

"I never did though. At the time, it was so easy for me to usurp the throne, so to speak. It was right in front of me and I felt the power at my fingertips. I will admit that it was a bit of a dark time."

"What stopped you?"

Ivan's lavender eyes softened. "My sisters. I owe my existence to them."

With hands that shook slightly, Yao reached across the table and placed them gently on Ivan's forearm.

"Ivan," he said in a near whisper. "You are a lot less selfish than you believe you are. The fact that you brought them with you to protect them shows that."

Ivan's gaze bore into his. "I will protect everything dear to me."

"I do not doubt you."

They simply breathed together in the same space for a moment before Ivan reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small package wrapped in beautiful red silk.

"Please accept this, Yao," he said.

Yao brushed his fingertips over the smooth silk. Normally, he wouldn't feel obligated to accept such a gift. But after speaking with Ivan, after finding himself entranced by eyes the color of the early dawn, he accepted with a single nod.

"I should go check on my sisters," Ivan said, rising to his feet. "Thank you for inviting me here."

Yao saw him out and then returned to his table, where the gift lay yet unopened. Slowly, he unfolded the silk to reveal a pendant carved in jade. The shape of a lotus flower looked up at him and Yao's heart beat faster.

Yao was pure, perfect, and beautiful – that was what Ivan was telling him with this gift.

With another startling jolt in his heart, Yao belatedly realized that Ivan had used his real name when he offered the gift, and not the nickname he'd used thus far. Yao replayed it in his head, not bothering to hide the smile blossoming on his face. He rewrapped the pendant and stowed it in his pocket.

He would have to find a chain for it soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading! 3<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Yao flipped through page after page of the document in his hands, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. He'd already gone through multiple histories but still hadn't found what he was looking for. He rolled up the parchment scrolls and tossed the roll to the side, reaching for the next one on the shelf.

He scanned a few pages until the words he was looking for caught his eye.

"_ –Advisor to the Great Khan. Background of this person is unknown. Is said to have advised many Khans before."_

"Ivan, I found something," Yao said, swiftly bringing the scroll to the low table where Ivan sat, perusing more documents from the palace library. Yao dropped to his knees beside him and spread the document out for him to see.

"It mentions an 'advisor' but no information about this person is given. It says they may have advised a number of Khans, and to do that they would either have been very old–"

"Or eternally young," Ivan finished, his brow furrowing over Yao's find.

Ivan's fingers curled around the edge of the parchment, brushing Yao's in the process. Yao retracted his hands and watched, waited. However Ivan scratched his temple and glanced at Yao in confusion.

"I cannot read this."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Yao took the scroll again. "The characters are Mongolian from the time of Genghis Khan."

Ivan cocked his head. "You know Mongolian."

Yao sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Of course. Did you forget that China is still a khanate?"

Ivan held his gaze. He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Yao assured, a bittersweet smile on his lips. "I only speak it with the emperor in private. Not many have been receptive to Chinese. But _shèngjià_ tries – more than I can say for most of them."

Ivan spoke, his voice softer. "What was China like? Before?"

This time when Yao met his gaze, Yao couldn't contain the shimmer of pride and anguished wonder in his eyes.

"China," Yao breathed, "was – is – my heart. It was incredible, the things I've seen come out of this country. And even though China has been taken hostage by the Mongols for now, her people, _my _people persist."

Ivan's hand lay gently over Yao's. "You will."

Yao didn't register his touch right away, it was comfort he immediately felt and only when he looked down and saw Ivan's hand dwarfing his own did he slowly, reluctantly, withdraw his hand.

Inside his sleeves, Yao fiddled with the lotus pendant Ivan had gifted him. Yao had found a chain and wore it as a bracelet. For some reason, he was glad he chose to wear it in a discreet place, rather than where Ivan could see it, like a necklace.

It had been a week since Ivan gave him the lotus. In the days after, Yao found himself spending more time with Ivan and his sisters, talking or researching. What time they had outside of political discussions was spent together. Ivan hadn't commented on the lotus, or the sentiments expressed therein, but Yao was beginning to notice them in his soft gazes and childlike smiles. It still amazed him how Ivan could be a stoic wall of ice during official meetings and so different outside of them. The Ivan who had, admittedly, scared him at first was not the true Ivan, Yao was beginning to find out.

"_Yaochka_?" Ivan's voice pervaded his thoughts.

Yao blinked and hoped the heat in his cheeks wasn't visible. "Would you like tea?" he asked, rising from his knees and heading towards the tea tray on his desk.

He heard a muffled shuffling behind him and then Ivan's low voice at his side.

"_Yaochka_." Ivan's fingers lifted Yao's wrist, revealing the lotus pendant. Yao watched silently, heart pounding, as Ivan's fingertips brushed over the pendant and the pale skin of his inner wrist. "There were also peonies," Ivan continued, almost as if talking to himself. "So many pretty peonies. But there is something about the lotus that drew me to it. Perhaps the immediate impression was that of beauty persisting through the mud."

Yao swallowed. Was he talking about the pendants? Or him?

This time, Yao didn't pull his hand away. He turned and faced Ivan, looked up into those lavender eyes. "Ivan," he said quietly, "It is almost dinner time." Yao knew that would be his cue to return to his sisters, as he always did. During gatherings, Ivan kept his sisters close. He was always vigilant.

Ivan gave a small smile. "I should be going, then."

Ivan's fingers fell away from Yao's wrist, and only then did he feel the mild sear left behind by those rough fingertips. Ivan's hands knew manual labor, harsh weather, and blood. In comparison, Yao's were smooth, slim, and hadn't known true labor in centuries. Yet Ivan cradled his hand as if he were porcelain. He knew when to use his strength, and when to use feather-light touch.

"Ivan," Yao said once he'd reached the door.

Ivan turned, the softness of his eyes twisting his heart. "Yes?"

"The day after tomorrow. I would like for you and your sisters to join me on an excursion. A picnic in the country."

Ivan smiled. "They would love that. So would I." Ivan inclined his head in one last departing gesture and closed Yao's door behind him.

Yao wrapped his hand around his wrist, his heart pounding. With carefully steady hands, he cleaned up the documents left on the table and filed them back into his library.

He never got to make the tea, but now he had no desire for it.

Yao dropped onto a cushion at his table. He suddenly felt exhausted; he'd been reading documents all day, and it seemed that in a span of twenty minutes his thrumming heart had sapped his energy.

Yao didn't have the energy to deny it anymore.

He was falling for Ivan.

.

"This is so exciting, isn't it, Natasha!" Yekaterina exclaimed from her saddle.

"Mm," Nataliya agreed with a nod from hers.

"The weather is beautiful today, and it is so nice to see the country," she continued. "Thank you again, Mr. Yao for inviting us."

It wasn't the first time that day that Ivan's sister had thanked him profusely. A half hour ago, Ivan and his sisters met him at the stables where Yao had had four horses prepared for them. Yao's saddlebags were packed with fruits and buns and vegetables and rice wine for them to enjoy. Ivan's horse carried the large blanket and several embroidered cushions.

Yao tilted his head back and closed his eyes to the sky. The air already smelled fresher, crisper. A breeze tugged strands of hair from his ribbon, gently blowing across his face. Yao wore his modestly decorated goldenrod robe that day, the back of it lay out over the horse's haunches. He held the reins in his hands, but his left thumb idly twisted the lotus pendant around his right wrist.

"I must say I am glad too," Ivan said, his lower voice breaking through his sister's feminine lightness.

Yao looked over to him. The sun was glinting off his already sun-bleached hair; hair that curled around his ears and his brow. The breeze played with his hair, and the peace it brought was seen in Ivan's relaxed smile. The previous day had been filled with politics, nearly from dawn until dusk. Yao knew it was a long time for Ivan to have to stand to the side, like a stoic guard, as impassive as he'd originally been. During breaks, Yao touched a hand lightly to his arm, a miniscule but reassuring gesture meant to give him a bit more strength every time. He was pleased when his efforts earned him tiny, quirked smiles meant just for him. At the end of the night and an exhausting hour of non-stop translating on Ivan's part, Yao waived his offer of dinner together with his sisters and instead told him to get rest right away. Ivan apparently hadn't the strength to protest, he only smiled tiredly and told Yao he'd see him in the morning for their outing.

It seemed Ivan had, in fact, gotten plenty of rest. Ivan was calm, but in a freshly invigorated way. Yao smiled.

"Have you seen much of the country before you came to Beijing?" he prompted.

"No. Business meant business, so there was no time for leisurely sightseeing."

"The springs are still chilly back home," Yekaterina said. "Here, it is already pleasantly warm."

Yao laughed. "It may be pleasantly warm now, but the summer rains will come soon enough."

"Our climates are not so different," Ivan agreed. "Though nowhere I have been has beaten us for ice and whipping cold." Ivan glanced to Yao. "I much prefer the springs here."

Yao couldn't disagree, he was never one for ice and snow.

For a while they had been continuing east, Yao knew a place along the banks of the Wenyu River where they could set themselves up. For miles it had just been them, occasionally passing an old peasant in his mule-drawn cart. Yao hadn't expected to hear children's laughter, and see three small, familiar bodies running along the trees that were clustered not far from the river banks.

The children spotted the small group and grins split their gap-toothed faces.

"_Yao-l__ă__osh__ī!_" they shouted, running toward them. They skidded to a stop by Yao, glancing curiously at his companions.

"What are you three doing out here?" he asked with a grin to Jin, Bao, and Yun Li.

"Mama and baba are close," the brother, Bao, said. "We're all taking a rest from travelling. They let Jin come with us."

"How nice," Yao said. "Little ones, these are my friends, Ivan-_gē_, Yekaterina-_jiĕ_, and Nataliya-_jiĕ_."

They looked with wonder on the foreigners and bowed, each parroting the other's "Nice to meet you."

"What are you doing out here, Yao-_l__ă__osh__ī?_" Yun Li asked.

"We're going on a picnic," he said.

The children jumped up and down, expressing their wishes to picnic with Yao-_ l__ă__osh__ī. _But they knew they couldn't so they spent a few more minutes petting the horses and excitedly giving updates to Yao about the day's adventures.

When they departed, Yao told them to play safely and he watched them run back to the trees.

The girls chattered about how cute the kids were and Yao said to Ivan, "We'll be nearing the location."

Ivan smiled.

When Yao caught sight of the river, his eyes widened. He knew that at this time of year, when the northern mountains were thawing and the water rushed southward, the river would swell, but today it rushed with more intensity than he'd seen in recent years. He thought that maybe they'd enjoy wading into it, but now he didn't want to present the risk.

They stopped a safe distance from the water and spread out their blankets and cushions. Yao set out the baskets of food and watched the three siblings chatter.

First, the girls remarked about the splendidness of the food, praising Yao once they knew it was him who had cooked it. They started talking about foods from their homeland. Which were Yekaterina's favorites, Nataliya's favorites, and "Vanya's" favorites.

Yao stifled a chuckle. He still found it cute when his sisters used Ivan's nickname.

He also asked questions about their food, never having heard of most of their dishes. He asked questions about life where they came from, and Yekaterina answered with exclamations and hand motions, a true storyteller. The whole trip, Nataliya hadn't spoken nearly as much, but Yao was used to her quietness. He made sure he asked _her_ questions as well.

As much as he enjoyed listening to them, Yao felt his heart sink more and more as time passed. All the talk of sibling adventures was bringing to mind his own "little brother." The brother that was lost to him.

"_Yaochka_?" Ivan inquired gently by his side. He must have noticed Yao's clouding mood.

"Please, stay here and enjoy the food," he said, smiling and standing. "I'm going to walk for a bit. I won't be long."

Ivan opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as Yao turned and walked away. Yao didn't want to see the expression he could guess was on his face. Normally, Yao would have invited Ivan to walk with him, but he was glad that Ivan seemed to know that he wanted to be alone.

The farther he got from their picnic, the more his heart squeezed with remembered loss. Why wasn't he just able to forget about Kiku? Kiku had chosen his path and never looked back. In his quiet way he'd set out east and Yao hadn't heard from him since. Did Kiku miss him? Where was he now? Was he seated in his own palace? Yao tried to imagine it, but somehow it clashed with the memory of Kiku denying a place in Yao's palace. How ironic would it be.

The wind was stirring and it whipped Yao's hair around his face, the strands that were just too short to stay secured in the ponytail. He swallowed the tears that threatened to leak. The wind would streak those as well.

A movement in the grass had him holding his hair back with one hand, his other hand shielding his eyes from the light to see.

A small figure was running toward him, waving his arms. It was Jin-_dì_.

"Yao_-__l__ă__osh__ī!_" Jin yelled, panic widening his eyes. "_Bāngzhù_! Yao_-__l__ă__osh__ī_, help us!"

Yao pulse skittered. "What is it, Jin-_dì_?"

"Yun Li-_mèi_! We were playing by the river and Yun Li-_mèi_ fell in." Tears streamed down Jin's face at this point. "Some tree trunks have been caught up along the banks and she's holding onto them but Bao-_xiōng_ nor I can reach her! She can't swim!"

For one second all Yao heard was the wind whistling in his ears. Then he acted.

"Jin-_dì_," he said, taking hold of the trembling boy's shoulders. "Run north. Not far away are my foreign friends you met today. Tell the man there that I need his help and lead him to where Yun Li-_mèi_ is. Do you understand?"

Jin nodded quickly. He pointed to a knoll farther south and told Yao that just over the crest was where his two friends were. Yao made sure Jin was on his way toward the picnic blanket before he grabbed the ends of his robe in his hands and made a mad dash for the knoll.

His heart was pounding again, not out of sorrow but out of adrenaline induced panic. Didn't he tell those kids to be careful? He couldn't blame them though, they were only playful children. What he needed to focus on now was saving Yun Li.

Yao crested the hill and saw the commotion Jin was talking about. A tree on the bank of the river had driftwood lodged in its roots and the jagged, rocky shore. Bao saw Yao approaching and his shouting became audible.

"Yao_-__l__ă__osh__ī! _Help! I can't reach her," he cried.

Yao ran toward the shore, shucking his robes and his shirt along the way. "Bao-_dì_, stay here, do not enter the water. I will get her, don't worry."

"_Mèimèi,_" he whimpered, helpless.

Yun Li was fifteen to twenty feet out from the shore, her back to the rushing water, her hands scrambling for purchase on the log. The weight of her clothing was pulling her downriver, and she implored Yao with wide, terror-stricken eyes through half-drowned cries.

Yao knew he couldn't jostle the stuck logs or else he'd send both of them plunging downriver. He mimicked her position, his back to the water that crashed into him, cold from the mountains and biting. Carefully, hand over hand he inched his way over to Yun Li, whose gasps for air came out in punctured gulps, interrupted by water surging into her mouth.

"Yao!" he heard a muffled shout from land. He glanced over to see Ivan and Jin on horseback followed by his sisters. They all looked on, horrified.

Ivan dismounted and ran toward the river. "Yao what are you doing?" he yelled, his lavender eyes blown wide.

"I've almost got her," he yelled back, three feet from Yun Li.

"Dammit Yao you're going to get the both of you killed!"

Yao ignored him. He was already here and there wasn't anything Ivan could do except help him.

"Yun Li-_mèi_, hold onto my shoulders," he said, trying not to let her scrambling movements disrupt the logs. Once she was piggybacked on him, Yao backtracked the way he came, moving extra carefully now that there was more weight on him. He shushed her sobs with words of reassurance and encouragement, partially for the benefit of himself as well.

Ivan had trudged knee deep into the water, the rope from the horses looped around his torso and the other end secured by Yekaterina and Nataliya. He waded out to them, reaching with his arm. When Yao got close enough, he wrapped and arm around Yun Li and held her out to Ivan.

"Yao, you too!" he shouted, frustration and worry clouding his face.

"Her first!" he shouted back, "I'm fine."

The logs closer to the bank were sturdier, but if Ivan had held onto both of them they would have been too heavy. The weight would have sent them tearing down the river.

Russian expletives ripped from his mouth as he hauled Yun Li into his arms. Yao breathed a sigh of relief once Yun Li was on shore and taken into Yekaterina's arms.

Yao was heading for Ivan once again when a wave of icy cold water pounded the back of his head, spinning the world in front of his eyes.

"Yao!" he heard Ivan shout but his vision blurred. The log he was on may have been sturdy, but none of them saw the fast-approaching tree trunk that churned downriver. Yao only had time to looked over his shoulder and see the shape of the uprooted base before it struck his temple. His hands slipped away from the log and his body went limp, caught in the swollen river's torrential grasp. Yao heard a muffled, indistinguishable shout before his lungs flooded with water and his eyes slipped shut.

.

Yao didn't know how much time passed once he began drowning. It all seemed like a second, or a year. But then he started coughing up water, his chest wracked with gasps. He rolled to the side, hacking up river water while an icy hand pushed his wet hair back.

Yao blinked near-death lethargy from his eyes, feeling pings of water drops along his face.

He was met with the sight of Ivan's face hovering over his. The pings on his skin were water drops dripping from the tip of his nose.

"_Yaochka_," he whispered.

"Ivan," Yao croaked.

Ivan hauled him up into his arms, his scratched chest melding with Ivan's, his cheek pressed to the side of his neck. Ivan had one arm wrapped around Yao's back, his other hand cradling the back of his head.

Ivan laid him back down, his hands moving to cup Yao's face, his forehead lowering to Yao's. He was muttering in Russian under his breath.

Yao's throat was scratched and burning, but he asked, "Yun-Li. Is she alright?"

Ivan sighed and looked him in the eye, nose-to-nose. "Yes. They're alright."

As if on cue, three little voices rang out, "Yao-_l__ă__osh__ī, _are you okay?"

He heard Yekaterina shushing them, saying that Yao needed air.

"You're freezing," Ivan said.

Yao hadn't even registered the cold or his shivering body. His brain was still fuzzy. Before he could speak, Ivan was bundling him in Yao's discarded shirt and his own thick, fur-lined vest.

"We need to go back to the palace," Ivan told his sisters.

"Natasha and I will take the kids back to their parents," Yekaterina said.

Yao wanted to protest, he wanted to make sure Yun Li was all right with his own eyes.

"Katyusha…"

"No, Vanya. You need to take Yao back. We won't be far behind."

"But–"

"Vanya," her stern voice pierced through the wind.

Only when Ivan had picked him up did he find his voice. "Yun Li…"

"She's fine, _Yaochka_. Katyusha and Natasha will take them to their parents."

Yao didn't have any strength to fight him. Cradled in Ivan's arms, Yao felt sleep pulling at his eyelids.

Ivan helped his weak body onto the horse, quickly climbing in front so Yao could lean on him. Ivan tied the rope around their waists so he wouldn't fall off. He whipped the horse into a run and Yao clutched at his soaked shirt. He didn't think sleep would find him on a running horse, but his eyes closed and he felt nothing more.

.

When Yao next opened his eyes, it was to midnight blue. He was lying on a soft bed, the familiar ceiling of his bedroom over his head. And he was inexplicably warm.

He shifted, and felt a body pressed into his side. Ivan.

Ivan was curled around him, his head pillowed on his arm. His steady breaths pushed at Yao's shoulder.

Yao felt around his chest. Bandages were wrapped around his torso, covering the cuts made while rescuing Yun Li. He tried to sit up. His whole body sang in pain. Upright, his head spun with vertigo and when he pressed his fingers to his temple he wrenched his hand away with a hiss. No doubt an impressive bruise was blooming there from where the trunk had collided with his head.

"Yao," he heard Ivan whisper, surprised. Ivan sat up, his hand coming to brush Yao's hair away from his face. When Ivan's fingers brushed over his temple, there wasn't any pain. Yao felt his heart wrench at the fear in his eyes brought on by worry.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Did I wake you?"

Ivan shook his head. "No. I haven't been able to sleep well."

It must have been the middle of the night. The palace was silent around them, the air outside still.

"You almost died," Ivan said, his low voice catching on the last word.

Yao swallowed thickly. "I've died many times, Ivan."

Ivan's hand trembled. Was it anger? Concern? "And you think its okay to experience it again? Yao, I've died too many times, I know what it feels like. Coming back is almost worse than death itself. When you've died and come back fifty times in one month, it breaks you."

Sadness and heart-wrenching pain burst in Yao. It was true, he knew exactly what he was talking about. He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. "Ivan…"

"This is not about me," he said, controlling his voice. "I never want to see that happen to you."

Ivan pulled Yao onto his lap, his arms winding around him, his face pressed into the crook of his neck. "I cannot bear the thought of my loved ones in pain."

Yao trailed his fingers through his soft hair, letting Ivan hold him.

_Loved ones._

Yao felt a hitch in his chest. "Do you love me?"

"I don't know what to call it," he replied. "It is different than my love for my sisters."

Yao chuckled into his hair, glancing at his right wrist. He leaned away with a gasp. "Your lotus," he said, showing Ivan his wrist where the pendant was missing. "It's gone."

Ivan shook his head. "My lotus is right here."

Yao sat briefly dumbfounded. He never really understood what it was in him Ivan saw that he would liken to a pure, divine, clean lotus. But he was touched by emotion and with careful fingers took hold of Ivan's face.

"Ivan," he said. "I love you too."

Yao didn't know whether it was Ivan's lips or his own that were kindled with warmth but he soaked it up. Ivan's hands tightened on his waist, trailing up his sides, spurring Yao into deepening the kiss, fulfilling his wanting aches from the other day.

Or maybe it had been a couple days now? Yao wasn't sure of the time or day but none of it mattered when Ivan was kissing him, touching him in that gentle way that seemed contradictory to his large, rough hands.

Yao was altogether smaller, slimmer than him. His temple throbbed dully and his chest was wrapped in bandages. His body ached in places and whether he was dizzy from the accident or from the way their sighs mingled together he couldn't say.

Yao wouldn't have it any other way.

He gasped and flinched when Ivan's thumb pushed a little too hard into a bandaged gash just below his ribs.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, pressing apologetic kisses to his shoulder, his collarbone.

Yao smiled and sat back. "Thank you, for taking care of me."

"Katyusha cleaned and bandaged your cuts," Ivan said. "I've never been good at that kind of thing."

"Then I'm thankful to her for that." He kissed Ivan at the corner of his lips once more. "I'm thankful to you for staying with me."

Ivan laid them back down to sleep once more. Yao found the only way to keep from inflicting pain on his injuries was to continue sleeping on his back. Ivan rewrapped himself around Yao as he did, an arm secured across his stomach.

Yao fell asleep more easily knowing Ivan was right there, knowing that the love he held for him was reciprocated, and that whatever hardships Ivan had endured thus far, they hadn't broken the part of him that touched him with tenderness.

.

The third time Yao woke from sleep his mind was clearer. His brain wasn't waterlogged, the night didn't disorient him. He woke to the light of morning, but exactly what time he still didn't know.

He was alone. And it was quiet.

Until he heard a noise in the other room. A woman opened the sliding door to his bedroom and Yao pushed himself onto his elbows. It was Nataliya.

She glanced at him. "You're awake," she said.

She knelt by his side, setting down a tray with clean bandages and bottles.

"Where is…?" Yao began.

"Ivan?" Nataliya supplied without skipping a beat. Her expression was as impassive as ever though. Yao couldn't guess what was going on in her mind. "My brother is at the political meeting today."

Yao sat up straighter. "The meeting?"

Nataliya stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "The officials know of your situation. Vanya has made sure that you are allotted plenty of recovery time."

"I could have gone today –" Yao was silenced by an icy look.

"Even so."

Nataliya unrolled the gauzy bandages and uncapped the bottles.

"I'm going to change your dressings," she prefaced before carefully peeling away the old ones.

Yao didn't know how extensive his injuries were, but it was evident that they were more than mere scratches when Nataliya removed the stained gauze.

She grabbed a bottle from the tray. "This is a salve. The cuts aren't too deep but there are some gashes. It'll disinfect the wounds."

Yao quietly watched her dab his skin with the salve, feeling its immediate sharp sting.

She had surprised him. He hadn't spoken to her much in all the time he'd known her. He hadn't even been sure that she new much Mandarin, but she hadn't seemed to encounter difficulties yet.

Ivan was right; Yao could see that she was very pretty. She had long eyelashes and pale blue eyes. Her lips had a natural red flush and her hair was immaculately braided. The only hardness about her was her steely eyes.

She began wrapping the new gauze around his torso, her gaze flickering back and forth from her hands to his eyes.

She was also very astute.

"Vanya cares for you very much," she said.

Yao swallowed. "I know."

"Do you love him?"

Yao held her gaze. "I do."

She only continued to watch him. "I love Vanya," she said calmly. "He's my big brother. He's faced tough decisions and sometimes the only people he has are my sister and I. But you," she said, tying the last of his bandages and folding her hands in her lap. "You've brought out something good in him. Something we haven't seen in a long, long time. Years of ice and war hardened him. Only Katyusha and I ever saw the side he's shown you, and rarely at that. When we arrived in Beijing and met you, and we knew you were like us, something was reawakened in Vanya. I'm going to be honest Mr. Yao," she said. "At first I thought it was just infatuation. But the more he talked about you, the more we learned, I could see that you were bringing back our old Vanya."

Nataliya looked down at her fingers, lacing and unlacing. Her brow furrowed slightly and it was the first outward expression of emotion Yao had seen from her. "I have to thank you for that, Mr. Yao. When we saw you in the rushing river, rescuing that girl, you nearly gave Vanya a heart attack. When he chooses to love someone, he will go to any length to protect them. They become his weakness, in a sense. That is why the only people he has allowed in are Katyusha and I, and you. Others are often frightened of him – it's how he retains his authority. But we both now that that is not Vanya's true nature. He trusts you, and so I will too."

With all these things she told him, some he knew some he didn't, marinating in his mind, Yao bowed his head deeply. "I'm honored to have your trust, Nataliya-_jī_."

Her eyes softened at that moment, a look that translated beautifully across her features. "Breakfast is almost ready," she said. "There's nothing we can do about the bruise, I'm sorry."

Yao tested the tenderness at his temple with his finger. Still very sensitive.

Nataliya exited the room to the common room.

Yao moved slowly at first, testing the pain from the newly dressed injuries. It wasn't sharp pain like before, so Yao steadied himself on legs that shook a little more than he'd have liked.

He neared the mirror and winced at the sight of his face. He finally had a visual to match to the level of pain the bruise gave him. It was blooming purple and black, pinks intermingled. Its tendrils curled around his eye, leaving the skin faintly swollen. It was like arms of a storm cloud swirling around his nearly black iris. Yao trailed the pads of his fingers over it, applying no pressure. He licked his lips and carefully tied his hair back into a tail, and shrugged into a robe.

He stepped out into the main room, where the scent of congee and jasmine tea welcomed him.

Nataliya had parchment and ink laid out on the table. She was writing characters.

"I'm practicing my calligraphy," she said without looking up.

Yao sat opposite from her and examined the sheet of paper. "It's very good."

Nataliya nodded. "I like it. My sister has taken to learning the style of embroidery here. She's been trying to copy the patterns on the gown Vanya bought her." She continued meticulous brushstroke after brushstroke, finally glancing up at Yao. "Do you know Russian?"

Yao shook his head. "No. I haven't had the opportunity."

Nataliya thought on her words for a moment. "I would teach you, if you'd like."

Yao smiled. "I would like that."

She tilted her head, critiquing her work. Then, she said, "Vanya has told you that we are all not related by blood, yes?"

"He has."

She set her brush down and looked at him. "I was born in the region just west of Muscovy. At the time it was called Kievan Rus', a state comprised of my brother and my sister's birthplaces."

"_Was_?" Yao asked, wanting to let her speak as much as possible. It was a rarity after all.

"It was. After the Mongol strikes my homeland was absorbed by a neighboring state called Lithuania. Perhaps if Vanya had not found me, I would be with them right now. A girl cast out as a demon has the slimmest chance of survival, even ones who cannot die permanently."

"How did Ivan find you?" he asked gently.

"I was living under a bridge outside of the city," she said flatly, unperturbed by the subject matter. "I guess it was pure luck the day they found me. Katyusha was already with him and so I gained a big sister and big brother. I don't remember by birth family, none of us do, but they hardly matter, don't they? The three of us survived. I think I can safely say that all of our childhoods were corrupted early on."

Yao nodded gravely. "I'm sorry to bring up a sensitive subject."

"I don't mind. Katyusha gets more emotional about it than I do. I cannot vouch for you, but when you have been chased out of town for years, escaped hundreds of forms of death at the hands of superstitious fanatics, and consequently steer clear of people because of it, it loses its melancholy. At least for me."

"I know exactly what you mean. There is no one to help us from the start, is there?"

"If only there were," Nataliya mumbled.

She stood then, and ladled congee into a bowl, poured a cup of tea. She brought the tray over to Yao and told him to eat.

"Nothing for you?" he asked.

"Katyusha and I already had our breakfast. Eat as much as you can."

They were silent while Yao ate and Nataliya resumed her calligraphy.

Finally, Yao asked, "I don't mean this disrespectfully, but why are you here with me?"

"Partially because Katyusha is at the market and she told me to watch over you." She glanced up at him with a spark in her eye and a twitch to her lips. "She's buying supplies to treat you with, and ingredients to cook you recovery meals. I suggest you not challenge her, she can be worse than Vanya."

Yao swallowed and smiled weakly.

"But I am here, also, because I had wanted to talk to you. I am an observer first. The past weeks have been very informative." She finished a page of calligraphy and set her brush down again. "I like you, Yao. I told you I would trust you, and I don't believe my sentiments have been wrongly placed."

Yao's smile grew sincere. "I promise they won't."

Nataliya smiled, the first he'd ever seen, and it was beautiful.

.

Yao got to experience first-hand the persuasive power of Yekaterina at lunch. He wondered if he hadn't, in fact, sustained a major head injury rather than a simple whack to the head with all her bustling. But Yao kept to Nataliya's advice and didn't raise an objection.

She tended to his bandages, not needing changing yet. She cooked him a hearty lunch and made him a tea-infused compress to take some of the pain from his temple and the deeper cuts away.

He also got to talk with her, and he steered clear of the sensitive subjects. Yekaterina was so different from Nataliya, but he could still see the obvious familial love they held for Ivan that bound them all together.

It caused an unexpected pang in his chest. An all too familiar pang.

"Mr. Yao, what is wrong?" she asked, seeing his face fall. "Are you hurting?"

"No," he said. Not in the way she meant, at least. "It's nothing that can be helped. You are lucky to have such caring siblings."

She looked on him worriedly, at a loss for what to do or say. He quickly changed the subject, lest he pull himself back down to that dismal melancholy.

Hours after lunch, Yao began to feel exhaustion tug at him. He really hadn't done anything strenuous, but injury came with its own ever-present drain.

Yekaterina ushered him to bed, and he let her turn down the covers for him.

"Rest," she said. "Dinner will be ready for you when you wake."

Yao hit the pillow and promptly fell asleep.

.

Silence did not greet Yao when he woke. Muffled chatter came from the great room, buzzing in the last light of dusk. He rubbed his eyes and slipped into a robe.

When he slid open the door to the great room, Ivan was sitting at his table, his sisters on either side. They were discussing some books from Yao's library.

Ivan looked up straight away, his eyes going wide. "_Yaochka_."

Yao smiled. "What are you doing?"

"Vanya was reading to us about some of the native animals here." Nataliya supplied, ignoring her brother's mild embarrassment.

"Here, Mr. Yao," Yekaterina said as she got up. "I've made soup, with pork."

Yao seated himself at the table across from Ivan while Yekaterina served him steaming hot soup and tea.

"Natasha," she said. She motioned for her sister to join her, to give them some privacy.

Yekaterina and Nataliya left the room and Yao blew on his tea. Ivan had been watching him the whole time, concern edging into his gaze every time his eyes traced over the bruise.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A lot better," he answered. "Your sisters are excellent care-takers."

"I'm glad."

The soup settled warm and comforting in Yao's belly and Ivan's apparent nerves made him laugh. Yao moved around the table, kneeling in front of Ivan and taking his hands. Yao shifted off his heels, enough to push up and coax him into a soft, feather-light kiss.

"Ivan…"

"I'm afraid of hurting you again," he breathed.

Yao smiled. "You've never hurt me."

"Last night," he reasoned. "Your gashes…"

"I'm the one that started it." Yao rolled his eyes, earning a small smile from Ivan.

Assured by him, Ivan leaned forward and pressed a more fervent kiss to his lips. Yao could feel Ivan's hands tighten in his.

"How was the meeting?" he asked.

Ivan sighed and looked down at their hands. "It was hard for a little bit, but we've managed to make some progress."

"That's good."

He rubbed the backs of Yao's hands with his thumbs. "Something… has been troubling me."

"What is it?" he asked, ready to do whatever he needed to comfort him.

"Katyusha," Ivan said, "told me that whenever the subject of myself or Nataliya came up, you looked sad."

Yao felt his hands go clammy.

"Is there something troubling _you_?"

Yao didn't see the sense anymore in hiding it. It wasn't a secret anymore between the four of them. Yao swallowed and said, "I knew one other person who was like us."

Ivan's eyes widened. "You did?"

Yao nodded, keeping his gaze on his hands. "He was my little brother, in much the same way Nataliya and Yekaterina are your sisters. We spent centuries together."

"What happened to him?"

"He said that something was pulling him eastward. He didn't want to live in the palace with me, so he left. I haven't seen him in hundreds of years."

"Where is he now?"

Yao shrugged. "I have no idea. He only said he was going east. Kiku left, and I haven't heard from him since."

Ivan lifted Yao's hand and pressed his lips to the back.

"There's nothing I can do," Yao sighed, putting on a weak smile for him. "I'm okay."

Wordlessly, Ivan pressed his forehead to the side of his face that wasn't bruised.

Yao stroked the hair at the nape of his neck. "Will you stay again?" he asked.

"Of course."

.

"Are you okay?" Ivan asked low, eyes flitting over him with concern.

Yao waved him off. "I'm fine. I can barely feel them," he replied, thinking of the cuts that had almost completely healed. The handful of gashes still required attention but they weren't a hindrance.

"I don't mean _those_. I mean your head."

Yao sighed. So Ivan had caught on. His temple had bloomed with color that morning, pinks and yellows and greens, amidst the black and purple. And he was trying so hard to mask the headaches that lanced through his temple so sharply they made his eyes roll. He didn't know how much longer his head could take all of the arguments and political bantering.

"The day is almost over," he assured Ivan. "And we're almost done. I can't stay away any longer."

Ivan silently worked his jaw, looking like he wanted to protest. They were seated at a table in the corner of the meeting room, light buzz from Ivan's envoy and Chinese officials floating around them.

Yao had missed the previous day's meeting, and had vehemently insisted that he was okay enough to attend that day's. Of course, Ivan didn't like it, but Yao had agreed to a few compromises.

And he was currently trying to wiggle out of one of them.

"Yao," Ivan stretched his name out, "If the headaches are keeping you from focusing you're better off resting."

Yao calmly sipped the tea provided by servants. "We're almost done for today," he repeated. "I'll be fine."

Ivan huffed, but any other comments were halted by a Muscovite envoy member uttering a short, ugly statement as he passed by. A murderous glint entered Ivan's eyes and he stood abruptly in the way of the man, Russian spitting off his tongue. The other man swallowed, a hint of fear crossing his eyes, but pride kept him from withering under Ivan's hawk-eyed grasp.

Finally, Ivan let the man pass and he quickened his pace back to his table of companions.

Yao realized it was the first time he'd seen exactly what Nataliya was talking about with his own eyes – how he used intimidation for authority. Yao would have been lying if he said that for a sweat-bursting moment he wasn't frightened as well. But that was the thing – Yao knew it to be a façade. If Ivan had done that weeks ago when they first met, Yao would have been very much frightened.

Yao rubbed his wrist where the pendant once lay. "What was that?" he asked cautiously when Ivan sat back down.

"Nothing. He simply needed to be reminded of his place."

Yao pressed his lips together but didn't say more as the official called the meeting back in session.

The rest of the week followed much the same pattern. Yao attended the meetings and tried to ignore the headaches, and Ivan tried to convince him to leave early to rest. They finally reached a day of respite and Yao insisted they get out of the palace in favor of the market.

Out there, where they didn't have to hide in Yao's rooms or be cautious of eavesdropping officials, they were free to talk of whatever they liked, stand as closely as they liked.

Ivan still drew curious stares but in the market, unlike in the palace, people had more important things to do than hang around and gossip behind their hands.

Even Yao drew a few glances because of his injury, though the bright, ugly colors on his face were now fading, impermanent shadows of an incident they both preferred to forget. The gashes on his torso were but the faintest scars, scars that would fade with the time he was eternally given.

After the market, Yao led them out of the city. Buildings became sparser, vegetation lusher. Curious glances gave way to peaceful privacy.

Farther away from accidental interruption, Yao took him to one of his favorite places outside the city; a lush grove where the trees grew high, speckling sunlight through the canopy, and flowers of all kinds thrived, perfuming the air.

Ivan took it all in in wonder, remarking on the difference between this magical place and the barren Siberian steppe.

Yao breathed in the damp, flowery scent and dropped to the ground where he laid out under the cool shade. Ivan watched him confusedly until Yao laughed and beckoned for him to join. Ivan sat beside him.

"Are you alright, _Yaochka_?" he asked.

"Of course," he said through chuckles. "It's just been so long since I've been able to _relax_."

Ivan rolled the grass between his fingers. "_Relaxing_ is dangerous for me."

Yao pursed his lips. He grabbed Ivan's hand and tugged hard enough to pull him on top of him. Ivan caught himself with his hands in the grass, on either side of Yao, looking surprised into his eyes.

"Ivan," Yao said, his hands framing his face. "Where are your sisters?"

Ivan blinked at him before answering. "In the palace?"

"Where is your convoy?"

He swallowed. "In the city."

"Where am I?"

The confusion left his gaze then, softness entering. "Right here," he said, nuzzling his ear.

Yao closed his eyes and smiled. "That's right." He turned his face and captured Ivan's lips, kissing and kissing the worry away. "There is no danger here," he whispered. "You don't have to be on your guard."

Ivan hovered inches from his lips, lightly panting. Something flashed in his eyes, something that made Yao's heartbeat quicken, and he surged forward with a new urgency.

Yao was ready for it, ready for the way Ivan coaxed his lips apart. He opened himself to whatever Ivan had to give him, accepting the desire and emotion he felt he had to keep restrained, encouraging him with a flick of the tongue on his lip and a playful tug and push.

This was Ivan with all his guards down: unapologetically wanting, demanding every bit he could get. And it was delicious.

Yao's hands roved up and down his chest, peeling back the worn, wool coat, discarding it, and spreading his hands over muscle hardened by centuries of surviving, protecting, fighting.

Yao didn't have the body for that kind of muscle, for living in unforgiving terrain. Yao didn't like fighting anyway – his power lay in his brain.

His lips were released, only for a gasp to be sucked in through swollen lips as Ivan pressed wet lips down the length of his neck, spurred by every delectable sound vibrating through Yao's throat. Yao's fingers curled and locked in the rough fabric at his shoulders. It needed to be gone.

Yao scrambled to pull it over his head and Ivan paused only long enough to finish tearing it out of the way before his own hands were pulling Yao's silk robe and shirt aside. His lips resumed their trail down Yao's chest, kissing every scratch and scar in apology for something that was ultimately not his fault.

Yao needed to feel him under his hands so he hooked his leg around Ivan's and pushed his mouth back onto Ivan's red lips, effectively rolling him over. With his back to the air, he could feel the ground's damp coolness that had seeped through his silks.

Ivan's hand locked at the nape of Yao's neck, and Yao drank in every rumbling growl that came from his nails dragging over Ivan's chest.

Yao lavished his own kisses over the map of scars he found on Ivan's chest, his heart clenching at the thought of them. The thought was a little sobering, so Yao weaved his slim fingers with Ivan's and laid warm, slow kisses on his lips. Yao pressed the bridge of his nose to the side of his neck, following with the occasional kiss.

Ivan's arms slipped around his waist, holding him chest-to-chest while they recovered lungsful of air.

"What happened?" Yao breathed, tracing his fingers over the scars on Ivan's shoulders.

"Battles, self-defense, attempts on my life," Ivan said.

"You've had a hard life."

"I got them by surviving. I'm used to it."

"I wish it weren't that way."

Ivan didn't answer, instead his gaze bore deeply into Yao's, making him wonder just what he was thinking about, what he wanted to say.

"Yao," he finally said. "There's something important I want to talk about. I've been thinking about it for a while."

Anxiety ticked at his brain. "Yes?"

"I guess it's two things, really. They go hand-in-hand." He worried his lip, then continued. "My convoy and I will be leaving soon."

Yes, it was already carving at his insides. The thought of Ivan leaving. Yao brushed the hair splayed over Ivan's forehead away, gently combing his fingers through it. Ivan's eyes fluttered closed and open again.

"It pains me too much to think about it," he said, mirroring Yao's sentiments. "But what I want to offer happens after I leave."

Yao's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Yao, I… I want to find your little brother."

Yao's mouth popped open, the flurry of words in his brain halting in his throat. "You what?"

"When we leave Beijing we'll be returning to Muscovy. After that, my ten-year gap begins and I will travel back this way, and keep going east. I will find Kiku, Yao. I will use what I know, whatever information you have to give me. I will bring him to you."

Yao couldn't help it. Tears pricked at his eyes. "You want to find Kiku," he breathed.

Ivan nodded. "I am _sure_ that he will come. If he is with his own leaders then he still has someplace to go back to, but he _will_ come. And Yao –" a small smile curved his lips. "When I come back to you, I will spend the rest of my gap years with you. No obligations, no one to report to. It will be us. If you will have me."

Yao's vision blurred with tears. He lightly smacked Ivan's shoulder and a watery laugh bubbled out of him. "What are you saying? I want nothing more than that. I'll take you as long as you'll take me."

Ivan's smile widened. "Then you'll be stuck with me for a long time."

Yao rolled his eyes. "Such a hardship."

Ivan cupped his face in his hands and kissed him. This time hope, love, anticipation, and the promise of an unlimited future together merged together in Yao and there didn't seem to be enough words, no suitable phrasing to tell Ivan how elated he was feeling. So he poured out his love through the kiss, let hope and anticipation tingle from his fingertips, and let the promise of forever beat through his chest into Ivan's heart.

Nothing could spoil this for him. Except for one fact.

"You still have to go away," he said.

"What is a few months, when in exchange I get years with you," Ivan replied.

And Yao had always thought _he_ was wise. He laughed again, knowing that he and Ivan were not like normal people. Where any other man would only have a finite window of time with his love, Yao's window was as vast as the land of China.

What were a few months anyway?

* * *

><p><strong>I swear this chapter was at least half this length in my head initially. We're not done yet, kids! One more.<strong>

**As always, many thanks for reading and for the kind words!**


	4. Chapter 4

Approximately 510 miles south of Beijing, between the Songshan and Shaoshi mountains, Yao watched the sun rise.

He lay reclined on his side on the platform outside his bedroom, head pillowed on his arm, fingertip tracing characters into the polished wood. He liked to spend his mornings in peace like this, watching the sunrise, nursing a cup of tea, and unobligated to do anything but breathe in the sweet, dewy spring blossoms.

Yao ducked his chin into the fur around his collar and breathed in. He didn't smell anything anymore. But the memory remained.

The fur coat he wore was entirely too large; he wrapped it like a robe around him and curled his fingers in the sleeves. The pelt of whichever animal it came from was coarse, and the hide was thick and worn, but then again it was meant for conditions much harsher than the mellow middle-country's springs. It was unlike anything he was used to wearing – because it was Ivan's.

It was the only thing he had that kept him there with him. Time had passed quickly for the first couple months. Then, it slowed unbearably. It was mid-spring, which made it just over a year since Ivan and his sisters had left the palace. Yao had left the palace himself in the summer.

Yao normally didn't plan his getaways ahead. If he felt like going north, he would settle in a rigid mountain town. If he felt like going south, he would find himself in a sleepy country village.

Yao had gone south.

He found an abandoned house on the edge of town and for a month he renovated it himself. It gave him something to do, roughed up hands that had gone soft in the palace.

But his hands weren't the only part of him that faced conditioning. His village lay in close proximity to the Shaolin temple – the birthplace of Shaolin Kung Fu. The _shīfù_ of the monastery was an old man by this time. Yao had last seen him many years ago, when the _shīfù _was but a student monk.

After Yao finished renovating his home, his next point of interest was the temple.

The _shīfù _had gazed at Yao in wonder, indeed recognizing him. Yao bowed deeply to him, requesting permission to train with the school temporarily.

"I have a lot more to learn from you, Yao-_shèng_, than you could ever learn from me," _Shīfù_ had told him modestly. Yao smiled.

From then on, Yao was a sort of guest _shīfù, _teaching and learning in equal turns, as technique and custom can change incrementally between Yao's studies. Palace life afforded very little time for such disciplines like martial arts, and Yao's body certainly felt the first few weeks of practice.

This, too, was also a distraction from the subject that forever lay in Yao's mind.

From then on, Yao would spend a few days out of each month at the temple, the rest at his home between the mountains.

There, Yao kept his mind active and he resumed one of his preferred activities – taking in young students from the village. Yao had nothing but time when he left his official posts and he devoted a large amount of it to China's children, his children.

In the years Yao spent away from the palace, he could tutor several villages' worth of children.

On this day, the sunlight breached the mountaintops and Yao sighed into the collar of the coat. He pushed himself off the floor, padding barefoot back into his room where he took off and folded the coat neatly at the head of his bed. He changed into his usual clothes and exited to the main room where he began preparations for breakfast. His pupils would arrive at mid-morning.

Yao passed his desk, his eye catching on the three folded pieces of parchment. He lingered on them, his fingers twitching, wanting to reach out to them.

They were letters, and Yao had memorized them word for word. Still, he wanted to feel the paper in his hands again, he wanted to read each like the first time. Desire won over and Yao picked up the first letter. It was sent in late summer, addressed to the _shīfù_ of the Shaolin temple, but that was only for liaison purposes. The _shīfù _passed along the letters to Yao as he received them.

Ivan's tightly written characters were never superfluous and the sentiments he expressed were veiled behind metaphor. Yao smiled to himself. Ivan was nothing if not cautious.

_An acquaintance of mine taught me about the symbolism between Buddhism and the lotus. Many days I feel like I am stuck at the bottom of a muddy pond, looking toward the surface trying to find my lotus. Sometimes I can see it. Sometimes there is too much mud blocking my vision and it makes my heart ache for that bright, fragrant beauty. The day I can see my lotus again will be the day the mud is cleaned from my body. _

_ I am always on the move and often miles and miles away from any reliable delivery service, so letters may be scarce. But know that I am still on my quest and someday soon I will return. _

That was Ivan's first letter. He left out an addressee and finished it without further sentiment. But Yao had gathered everything Ivan meant to express. Immediately, he had wanted to write him back, but stopped once he realized that Ivan _was_ on the move and hadn't left a return address anyway. There was no way for a courier to find him.

The second letter expressed similarities, vaguely mentioning that Ivan's search was going well so far and he was sure it wouldn't be long. That letter arrived in Yao's hands in mid winter, just before the lunar new year. The third letter was received one month ago and Yao felt Ivan's return in his bones. It wouldn't be long now.

A timid knock on Yao's door pulled him out of his reveries and Yao put the letters away.

Two girls stood at his door, bowing once Yao opened it. They were nine and seven, Lan Ming and Yu Wei. The girls were sisters from a home closer to the center of the village. Their family was not poor, but by no means wealthy.

Yao greeted them and welcomed them inside. He had been teaching them for just under a month yet they still held themselves reservedly, allowing no chance for dishonor against Yao. He smiled and offered them tea.

It was rare for Yao to gain female students no matter where he went. It was why he took great care in seeking out girls who showed great promise, in families who might look positively on Yao's suggestions. These sisters in particular had an older brother who was already apprentice to a scholar of law in the region. Their father was once an assistant to a headmaster from a different village.

"Your girls have potential," Yao had told their mother and father, "If you would allow me to teach them."

By then, much of the surrounding villages knew that this young newcomer had worked in the Imperial Palace and his reputation was pristine. After some hesitancy and negotiation, the girls were allowed to go to Yao for lessons. Lan Ming, as the oldest, had been engaged to the heir of the head family in the village. She would do well to learn to read.

Yao had brought with him books from his library – stories that he gave to his pupils and instructed them to read. Yao taught them history, from times even before Mongol rule, he taught them how to write, and basic mathematics. He gave them the tools to help them feel competent and able.

The sisters were reading aloud from one of Yao's stories, one about an ancient hero. They took turns, already having become proficient at reading. Yao was cooking lunch when the younger Yu Wei piped up.

"Yao-_l__ă__osh__ī_," she said – Yao had allowed them to refer to him informally. "The hero talks about climbing Pangu's head. What does that mean?"

Yao smiled. "Do you know the creation story of our lands?"

The girls shook their heads. "Will you tell us?" Yu Wei asked, eyes glittering for a new story.

"Don't act so presumptuous," her sister hushed her.

"It's alright, Lan Ming-_mèi_. It is a good story."

Yao dished out their lunch and brought their bowls to the table. The girls sat side-by-side with the book open in front of them. Yao sat opposite and gestured for them to eat while he told the story.

"In the beginning, the universe was contained inside an egg," he began, their wide, bright eyes locked on him even while they slowly ate. "Neither the sun nor moon existed and everything was pitch black. But even in darkness, the first being was born. His name was Pangu. Pangu decided to bring order to the darkness. He cracked open the egg and the yang rose to become the heavens while the yin sank to become the earth.

"But the heavens were too heavy, and life could not have existed under its weight, so Pangu pushed the heavens up toward the sky with his own strength. For thousands and thousands of years Pangu pushed the heavens higher and higher, starting on his knees and eventually being able to rise to his feet and extend his arms above his head. When Pangu thought the heavens would stay, he stopped holding them up. Pangu was very tired and lay down on the earth to rest. There, he died and came to shape our country. His head became the mountain of the East, his feet the mountain of the West. His left and right arm, the South and North mountains.

"All the parts of his body became parts of the universe and the Earth. From his body the stars and planets were created. The sun and moon from his left and right eye, and on and on."

"What about people?" Lan Ming said, quickly closing her mouth as if she'd spoken by fault.

"People were created by the Mother Goddess Nugua," Yao said. "Nugua liked the plants and animals, but thought something was missing. She created people out of clay and breathed life into them.

"A long time later, after the people had built villages and farms, the monster Gong-gong destroyed one of the mountains that held up the sky. A great hole formed in the sky, causing the earth to crack. It caused fires, flooding, and earthquakes. The Great Goddess hurried to fix the earth and filled the cracks with ash. The floods lowered and began to follow the river channels. People could resume their lives again, and Nugua strengthened the mountains by putting a leg from a giant tortoise at each one."

"The Mother Goddess did all that?" Yu Wei asked, amazed.

Yao smiled and nodded. "She did. Now, those stories are two of many. You may hear of many more."

"There are more? Will you tell us, Yao-_l__ă__osh__ī_?"

He laughed. "Not today. You haven't finished reading yet."

The girls were well-mannered enough not to whine and diligently resumed reading from Yao's book after they finished eating.

Listening to them, Yao thought back to the story of Pangu. It was one of many stories he'd heard in his long life, and one of the first he thought of when children asked him. They believed it, more or less, but if one thing was made apparent to Yao over the centuries, it was that he himself wasn't sure about any of the myths.

He hadn't been born at the beginning of time, no, but he had lived long enough to think differently. In any case, it didn't bother him, and had little importance in his usual work. Yao's existence in itself was a mystery, so the creation of the world would henceforth be a mystery.

"Yao-_l__ă__osh__ī_?" he heard them through the fog of contemplation.

Yao shook his head and smiled. "It's nothing. Let's start your mathematics."

.

The girls had gone home hours ago and night had replaced the sun with the full moon. Yao sat outside his bedroom, on the wooden platform looking out into the trees and hills behind his house. Everything glowed milky white in the moonlight.

Yao untied his hair from the ribbon and ran his hairbrush over and over the strands – a little mindless, therapeutic ritual. He glanced at his wrist, remembered the brief time when a small jade carving of a lotus used to sit there on a chain. He wished he hadn't lost it.

He sighed and stood, returning the brush to his room. A knocking sound from the main room stopped him.

It was a calm knocking, unhurried. Confusion and curiosity mixed on his face as he entered the main room. Nobody usually came to his house at this time of night. The person on the other side knocked again.

Yao approached the door, setting a candle on the table next to the door. His hand was on the knob, ready to turn, when he heart was stabbed with nostalgia and longing. His breathing had already run erratic when he swung the door open and a young man stood on the other side.

The young man's eyes widened on sight of him, wide, black eyes that shone like onyx in the moonlight. Short, black hair framed his face, falling over his brow and brushing his ears. His silk robe was plain and charcoal grey.

Yao's jaw dropped open, but words failed him. His heart hammered in his chest.

Finally, the young man said, "_Onīsan_."

Tears began to blur Yao's vision. He didn't know what he just said, but his voice, calm as a still pond and pleasantly low, he wouldn't forget.

"Kiku," he choked out, his hands shaking.

All of a sudden, Kiku doubled over into a deep bow, the fringe of his hair blocking his eyes. "Yao-_gē_. I'm – I'm sorry to disturb you."

The tears burst free and Yao hauled up his brother into his arms. Kiku was still only an inch shorter, but he felt fuller.

Yao cried into his shoulder, shaking with watery laughter when he felt Kiku's trembling and hesitant arms slowly hold him back.

"I thought I would never see you again," he said, pulling back and wiping his face.

Kiku had always been emotionally reserved. Yao couldn't ever remember seeing him cry. But two tear streaks, one from each eye, stained his cheeks.

"I – I thought the same."

Fresh tears threatened to spill, so Yao pulled him inside and shut the door. He busily set about lighting more candles and starting a small fire to prepare tea.

Kiku knelt at the table, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. His eyes were on the lacquered surface.

Yao brought over the tea and Kiku wrapped his hands around his cup.

"Yao-_gē,_" he started. "I'm so sorry."

"About what?"

Kiku looked up at him with shining eyes. "For not speaking with you since… since I left. It was shameful of me."

Yao's heart ached. He reached forward and grasped Kiku's hands. "Nobody is at fault," he said. "I could say it was my fault for never attempting to contact you. Let us leave shame out of this. It'll only hurt."

"I thought a lot about how I left you. I never told you why. I barely understood my own decisions then."

"It's okay."

Kiku's grip tightened. "I found it, though, Yao_-gē. _The place I'm supposed to be. I arrived in the land of Japan, far to the east, and spent years travelling."

Yao's heart warmed. "I'm happy for you, Kiku."

The light in his eyes dimmed slightly. "Yes. In the beginning there was much to be happy about. There has been trouble in the past few centuries though, with the Mongols and shoguns."

"Did the Mongols give you much trouble?"

"Not too much. Many years ago a typhoon wiped out the last of the forces, in addition to causing much destruction of the land and people. No, what leaves Japan in strife now is the warring shoguns."

Yao tilted his head to the side. "Kiku, you speak as if you were an official."

Kiku ducked his head. "I know I told you that I left China because I couldn't be in the palace. After I travelled through Japan, I fell in with the imperial palace, in Kyoto." He met Yao's gaze again. "I didn't mean to dishonor your imperial position by doing so."

"I know, Kiku," he replied with a smile. "I'm glad you were able to find stability. It is inevitable."

"I suppose so."

"Kiku, you _will_ stay here with me, won't you?" Yao asked eagerly.

Kiku hesitated, but he gave a small nod. "I would be honored, Yao-_gē_. But I must return to the inn we have rented, to tell Braginski-_san_."

Yao heart skittered. _Ivan_. He had forgotten in his excitement of seeing Kiku. "Ivan! He is with you now?"

Kiku cocked his head. "Yes. He said he knew you, that he came to bring me here."

"Why didn't he come with you?" Yao demanded, though he was mostly asking the questions to himself. "Why wouldn't he come here too? I have been waiting and–" Yao stopped. He stood, yanking a spluttering Kiku to his feet. "Take me to where you're staying, Kiku, please. I need to see him."

Confusion and bewilderment had Kiku gaping like a fish and uttering sounds as Yao dragged him out the door.

They mounted horses and Kiku paused, saying, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied impatiently. "Now, please, lead me to him."

Kiku bit his lip and spurred his horse into a gallop. Yao followed, his mind running in circles.

_Ivan_.

.

The village asleep, Yao and Kiku were the only commotion to be made as Kiku stopped them in front of the little inn in the center of town. A candle burned in an upstairs window and Yao's pulse thrummed.

Kiku had barely managed to get in front of Yao to lead him. Yao was like a man possessed.

The minute Kiku opened the door to their quarters, Ivan whirled around from where he stood by the bed, having just pulled on a light sleeping shirt.

Yao ran to him and flung his arms around Ivan's neck. Ivan staggered a step back but his arms were already locked around Yao's lithe body.

Yao was trembling anew and a shiver raced down his back when Ivan began softly repeating, "_Yaochka, Yaochka, Yaochka_."

His nose was buried in Yao's hair and Yao breathed in the scent he'd missed and yearned for.

Yao thumped a fist on Ivan's strong shoulder. "Why didn't you come with Kiku?"

Ivan's lavender gaze bore gently into his. "I wanted to give you time with him first."

Tears pricked at his eyes once more and Yao wondered if this were the most he'd ever cried in one day.

Yao pushed onto his toes, cupped the back of Ivan's neck with one hand and fisted his shirt in the other, and brought their lips together in a long overdue kiss.

Ivan's solid arms had tightened around him even more, but it was as if it weren't tight enough. The heat from his body, from his lips Yao had missed. He missed his gentle strength, his protective embrace.

Yao eased back, gulping air, and he remembered Kiku. But Kiku was no longer in the room. Yao sped out the doorway, only to make an abrupt halt once he found Kiku there in the hallway with his back to the wall, his eyes on the floor.

Kiku glanced up at him and shyly said, "I only meant to step out for a moment. I didn't realize you were…"

Laughter bubbled out of him. Yao could not have been happier than at that moment. He swept Kiku up in his arms again, and looked back at Ivan when he, too, entered the hallway.

"You both will come stay with me, won't you?"

Kiku swallowed, still obviously unused to Yao's affection. "Of course."

Ivan grinned. "Of course."

.

The three had spent the entire following day venturing around the forested land behind Yao's home. They picnicked and recounted stories from their travels. Yao was told the whole story of Ivan's search.

Once Ivan had reached the edge of the mainland, he boarded a ship for the islands of Japan. Ivan had never been that far before, he didn't know the language, so he arranged for an interpreter to meet him in Kitakyushu. From then on, Ivan spent months tracking Kiku. He worked slowly in order to keep suspicion off his back. He was already a noticeable foreigner, he didn't need too many people knowing about such a delicate matter.

Ivan was finally directed to the Northern Court in its capital, Kyoto. Once he felt the soul of another like him in the room, Ivan knew Kiku was there. He found him, appealed to him, and spent two weeks as Kiku's guest. The whole time, Ivan told him why he was there. At the mention of Yao's name, something had stirred in Kiku and Ivan was sure that he would come.

Kiku agreed, and together they set off toward the Beijing palace. From there, Ivan revealed that Yao had in fact given him the general location of where he would be – the Shaolin temple between the mountains. It took another few weeks to arrive, and once they did Kiku asked around town for Yao. He had been relieved that Yao was so well known and Kiku immediately went in search of his home.

The breeze rustled Yao's hair, tickling his jaw. They sat on their picnic blanket under the shade of the trees. Yao held Ivan's hand in his and traced his fingertips over his rough knuckles and calloused palms.

Kiku, ever modest and proper, knelt neatly in his place, his hands cradling a cup of rice wine.

"Yao-_gē,_" he said. "May I speak with you about something?"

Yao nodded and released Ivan's hand, standing and following Kiku deeper into the trees. Ivan laid back in the dappled sunlight.

"It is not my place to pry," Kiku prefaced. "But I was wondering…"

"About Ivan and me," Yao finished, knowingly.

Kiku nodded.

Yao sighed. "Ivan came to the Beijing palace last year with his officials. Kiku, there are more. Ivan has two sisters like us." He swallowed. "Anyway, while he was there, we got to know each other. I fell in love with him," he said simply. "Before he left, he offered to find you for me. I didn't know if he could, or if you would come, but it was all I could cling to."

"I wanted to see you again, I did," Kiku reiterated.

"I know. And now here we are." Yao smiled.

Kiku smiled too, a rare sight but a beautiful one.

"Yao-_gē_, I don't know how much my saying it will mean to you but… Ivan really does love you."

Yao didn't think he'd ever tire of hearing it.

"I figured as much early on," Kiku continued. "The way he spoke about you, described you… it was too intimate to be acquaintanceship."

Yao smiled. "Thank you, Kiku. It means a lot to me."

Yao turned back to the picnic blanket, pausing and asking Kiku, "Are you coming?"

Kiku smiled and shook his head. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a moment. I want to look around here a bit more."

Yao nodded and, with a fully warmed heart, returned to where Ivan reclined peacefully on the blanket.

.

That night, Yao stood by the sliding door in his bedroom, looking out to the scene he'd watched nearly every night. The dark blues of night drenched the woods and the quiet sounds of night whispered around his home. Only this night was different.

Yao pulled the red silk ribbon from his hair, the freed strands falling over his ears. Then, he untied his robe and let it drop from his shoulders. The night air was cool against his bare chest.

Yao turned to find Ivan seated on his bed, watching him silently. His eyes glowing in the dark drank him in.

Wasting no more time, Yao moved across the room to sit next to him. With the ease and comfort as if they'd never parted, Ivan's fingers combed through the inky blackness, guiding them forehead-to-forehead. Yao closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ivan's fingers slipping through his hair calmed him, and at the same time made him shudder with want.

Yao leaned further in, his lips just grazing Ivan's. Once that spark had lit, the kindling had fanned into a flame. Ivan cradled the back of his head, pulling him up and into a deep, delicious kiss.

Everything was like he remembered it. The intense taste of him, making Yao dive deeper and deeper into that sweet rush. His rough fingers tracing lines of fire over his skin. Ivan's broadness, his strength, his solidness under Yao's own hands and pressed to his slim, lean, and fine-boned frame.

Ivan's long, pale eyelashes tickled his cheeks as he kissed his way down Yao's jaw, down the slender column of his neck. Yao sighed his longing and craving.

Ivan drew him down so that they lay together, his arm wrapped securely around Yao's waist. Face-to-face, Yao brushed lightly at the curling pale-gold hair at Ivan's temples. Ivan closed his eyes on a contended hum.

_I missed you. I love you. Thank you._

Yao wanted to say everything to him, but somehow no string of words he could think of sounded exactly right. Seeing his face this close, Yao could see that sleepless nights hadn't only affected him. Yao gently traced his thumb over the dark swoops under Ivan's eyes. He could probably use a week's worth of rest.

Ivan's eyes fluttered open and he smiled. "My _Yaochka_. My lotus."

"Do you still feel like a muddy pond?" Yao asked with a tiny smirk.

"No," he replied, his smile widening. "I can see the surface again."

"How elegant."

"You are."

Yao still hadn't managed to stop flushing whenever Ivan referred to him as such. So instead of saying anything, Yao kissed him again.

They kissed, sleepy and tender, and Yao twined his fingers with Ivan's. _I missed you_. He brought his hand to his heart. _I love you_. Finally, Yao kissed Ivan's the back of Ivan's hand. _Thank you_.

Drowsiness overtaking him, Yao nestled into Ivan and fell asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

They had years, they had eternity if they so wished. They could go anywhere together. Yao wanted to say these things out loud, as if it would cement it as truth. But somehow, he knew Ivan already held the same sentiments in his mind.

For now, he would enjoy his time with Kiku, who he once thought he'd never see again. He'd have Ivan with him, and he'd get to see his sisters again. Maybe even someday, they'd find others like them. Because if the past year had taught him anything, it was that he didn't have to be alone.

And now, he wasn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Somebody stop me.<strong>

**Another one comes to a close! I honestly didn't think it would end up being this long.**

**Hope you enjoyed! Eternal thanks for all support!**


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